Waiting for Magic
by Xenoglossy
Summary: E/Sy shortlet. Fickle Syaoran, auras and the many, many ways a person can fall in love.


This is short and, in my personal opinion, kind of crappy (written in 21 minutes), but the idea's been bugging me for a while now. I wanted to play around with the idea of unrequited love on the wrong side. This was inspired by Vol. 11 and Eriol's big, shooty beams of death. It was originally a light-hearted fic but turned dark in the end for some inexplicable reason. **listening to Meatloaf. Should probably be listening to Ace of Base** ; ; ; ;Waiting for Magic {ccs/E+Sy/auras} Sometimes falling in love is like a wildfire. It's quick and violent and unpredictable and so unbearably warm that is chars your soul and drives you to petty obsession and jealousy. And sometimes it's like drowning, where you flail and gasp and you're sure that this is it, but as much as you struggle in vain, you can never break the surface to breathe, or perhaps, speak. Then, sometimes it's like midnight. All dark and magical and all around you until you can't remember who you are or where you came from. Your past dissapears and so does your future because this is the most dangerous love of all- the kind where there's no way out even after all the desire has been spent. Li Syaoran has expirienced all three of these loves in a period of less than a year and isn't quite sure where he stands with his heart anymore. The first was simple enchantment that sent his heart into his throat- blamed, of course, on an over-active magical aura (and a dazzling smile). The second sent his heart right back to the base of his being, where it found a backbeat at his center and throbbed with the rythym of truth and freedom- the secutiry and similtaneous *fear* of having finally found the one perfectly suited to him- someone that he needed, and probably still did. The last was a death toll, a dull ringing in the back of his mind and the irressistable lure of what he didn't want and should never have. The kind of black and sweeping desire that runs through someone like a wave electricity and leaves them, finally, with their heart in their hands, bleeding and pulsing like a public display. Syaoran understands now, those grave words whispered into his dark unconcious mind, voice sweet, deep and seductive, spider-webbing dangerous lies and thoughts and imprinting unwanted emotions on his heart. Things that float murkily to the surface even as he confesses his love for another. Things that manifest themselves in smokey dreams and forgotten whispers in the first, dusty minutes of morning. He wakes on the morning of prophecy with a heavy feeling in all his limbs and watches the clock-hands slowly click with preminition. He rises slowly and makes a decision. Perhaps not the most intelligent one he has ever made, but the truest and most instinctual he could manage. Eriol seems slightly surprised, having opened his door at six fourty- seven in the morning only to see Syaoran standing there staring at his feet. They talk without words then Eriol steps outside and closes the door quietly. They walk in silence until the streets begin to fill with people, and then they take a turn into a deserted park where Syaoran mutters, Eriol shakes his head sadly and the chinese boy stumbles back a few paces in surprise. Then, everything goes black and white and slow motion and Syaoran grabs the british boy's hand roughly and pulls him into a long, sloppy kiss. Eriol being who Eriol is, does not pull away- in fact he indulges the boy's whim to some extent, but Syaoran can still tell that he's not what the mage wants, and even if he were, it would be no more than a passing fancy. The kiss feels like dying. It feels like he's dropping his heart, only suddenly, his heart is no longer living, breathing flesh but hollow glass. He digs his nails into Eriol's pale wrist and mashes their lips together, pressing his eyes closed and trying to extend the moment into forever so that his lips never forget and the blackness never fades to white and his heart never hits the ground and... ((crash)) Eriol pulls away calmly and Syaoran lets go of him, gasping. The mage folds his arms and looks him up and down, tsk-ing. Then, he reaches out and pats Syaoran's cheek in a condescending manner and says: "Now, now Xiao Lang. It looks like you're waiting for magic..." {;ende} ;sometimeswewaitfroever . . . 


End file.
